


Royal Flush

by jakobscove



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-12-23 07:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11985009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakobscove/pseuds/jakobscove
Summary: There's three major players in this game.But a fourth joins.And he's got Lady Luck's blessing.





	1. Chapter 1

The night Benny took that poor kid's life haunted him all the way across the Mojave, in more ways than one. The kid was innocent; he didn't even know why he was knocked out and bound, only to be shot in the head. _Twice._

It'd be accurate to say that Benny regretted it, sure, he felt guilt gnawing at him even now, back in New Vegas with a stiff drink in his hands. But, he did what he had to do.

That's business in Vegas.

At least, that's what he's telling himself, coughing at the burn of alcohol down his throat. He's hunched over, Platinum Chip on the desk beside his computer, the screen isn't even on.

What a goddamn week he's had.

 

* * *

 

When Courier Six steps into the Tops, he isn't immediately convinced Benny's even _here._ He's stopped at the door, his weapons taken away, save for his lucky revolver hidden in his boot, and led inside. No fuss, no one even knew who he was. _Strange_ , but not entirely unwelcome. It'll be easier this way.

“Is Benny around?” he asks the Chairman at the desk, who nods and points further inwards.

“Sure thing, baby. He's in the back.” with a tip of his hat and a smile, the Courier makes his way there.

Sure enough, there he was, just leaning on the railing overlooking the Roulettes. He almost laughs with how easy this all is now that he's trekked miles to get to this point, but settles for a grin as he approaches. Benny turns his head, makes eye contact, and shoots straight up, mouth open.

“What in the goddamn..” he folds his arms, turns fully to face him, and shuffles backwards slightly. Right next to what looks like a bodyguard, the Courier notes. Of course.

“Afternoon fellas,” the Courier takes his hat off, bows his head, and drops it back. He hears Benny laugh, and he's sure Benny saw the scar on his forehead. The little gift he gave him back in Goodsprings.

“Well, ain't this just interesting! How thick must your skull be, kid? Or well,” Benny pauses and glances around almost nervously, “Pretty thick if you think meeting me at my own casino's a good idea.”

The Courier leans his hip against the railing, hands in his pockets, “Just came to talk, bud. Ain't gonna pull a gun on ya, don't worry.” Not _yet_. Benny looks skeptical, like he might've heard his thoughts, a furrow on his brow.

“Sure, I turn my back and act surprised when I find a knife sticking outta it. But if talk's what you want, baby, then meet me in the presidential suite in an hour. We'll talk,” he turns to leave, but stops and raises an index finger, his back to the Courier, “ _Alone_. And no tricks, see?” and he leaves, his bodyguards trailing after.

The Courier pushes himself off the railing and laughs a little, shaking his head. It's an obvious trap but, really, when has the odds being against him _ever_ stopped him?

Wiping his forehead, he sits at a table, and he counts how long it'll take til he's kicked out for cheating.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Benny is pacing in the presidential suite, wringing his hands. How the fuck did that mailman survive two bullets to the brain? And how is he _here_ , and able to prance around the Tops like he owns the fucking place. This wasn't accounted for, how could it have been, a goddamn courier he shot dead raises from the grave and follows him all across the Mojave, just to _talk_?

God, he needs a cigarette.

No sooner than he pulled one out, the elevator behind him dings open, a dead man stepping out. He's not smiling, but he can see the creases in the corner of his eyes, as if he's trying not to. He tips his, frankly _ridiculous_ , cowboy hat and mumbles out a greeting but Benny barely hears him as he drags a stool out to sit at the bar.

Benny's digging through his pockets when the Courier approaches him, and Benny turns to face him and hears a click and oh _God_ here we go _this is what he gets for shooting people in the head a bullet of his own right to his face_ and-

His cigarette is lit. His lighter, _his_ lighter, is being held to his face. And then the Courier pockets it, huffing a laugh.

“Thought it might've gone missing,” Benny says, taking a long drag, “Always thought of it as a good luck charm. How wrong was I, hey?”

“I dunno,” the Courier takes a seat beside him, elbows on the bar, “was pretty lucky for me.”

_Led him right to you,_ Benny tells himself, staring into the ashes his cigarette's left.

“Lark,” The Courier then says, lighting his own cigarette, “Like the bird.”

Benny sighs, he can feel a headache coming on, head in his palm. He'd rather tie up this loose end sooner rather than later.

“So, lemme lay it out straight for you. You're not getting the chip, kid. Not sure why you thought having a little chat would change things, but, it won't,” Benny says, turning to face Lark, then, tapping off his cigarette he adds, “I'm sure you got questions, so, ask 'em.”

There's a long pause as Lark shrugs, and they smoke quietly together for a moment.

“Figured as much, I'm mostly here for information,” Lark says, taking a drag, and Benny has to pull his eyes away from his lips as he does so, “Like, what exactly _is_ the Platinum Chip anyways?”

Benny barks out a quick laugh, almost choking on smoke in the process. _Of course._

“It's the House edge, baby. What makes the big man tick? His army of bots. So, how do you beat that? _Better_ bots. Y'see where this is goin', kid?” Lark nods, humming lightly.

“Make an unstoppable force invincible. Makes sense, dunno why that'd be useful to you if it's only for House's bots, though.”

Benny shakes his head, “All part of the plan, kid. And I got big ones. Top-secret, I'm afraid, no peepin' Toms here.” He hears Lark huff out a laugh, finishing off his cigarette. Benny's almost done his own.

“Well then, tell me this-” and Lark stands up and walks around the bar, crouching, searching for something, “You got any whiskey in this place?”

“Sure do, in the back,” Benny says, pointing to the back room, where a refrigerator is. Not a great time to be drinking but this gives Benny a chance to leave. Dabbing out his cigarette, he stands up and straightens his suit, glancing over the Courier once more.

“Well, it's been real, and it's been fun, but I got important business to do. So, help yourself to the vicinities and try not to miss me too much, hey?” pushing the elevator button he waves at Lark, a strained smile on his face.

Lark turns from the doorway to the back room and tips his hat, “I'll catch ya later Benny.”

And Benny leaves. The elevator ride down feels too short, and he reaches into his pocket for another cigarette, only now realizing he left his lighter with Lark. Sighing, he puts it in his mouth anyways, content to just leave it there, to have something to keep him occupied.

 

* * *

 

Being caught by the Legion and bound wasn't exactly part of how Benny'd like to spend his afternoon, but, here he was. After leaving the Tops he made his way all the way to Fortification Hill, only to be used as bait. For whatever reason, the Legion wants the Courier, and the Courier wants the Platinum Chip.

Benny was just a bonus, all tied up and everything for him.

It's about two days before Lark actually shows up, and it's early morning, 7 A.M. or so. He enters Caesar's tent, escorted, and he talks with Caesar for a minute. Benny's too far to hear anything but after a moment Caesar takes out the Platinum Chip, and simply _gives_ it to him.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that by now, Caesar's out of the game. _Checkmate._

Lark takes the Chip and pockets it, turns to face Benny, and winks. Then, his hand comes out of his pocket, lightening fast, and blood is suddenly pouring out of Caesar's mouth. He's still choking on his own blood when Lark drops the switchblade and turns to face the approaching Legionnaires. He slips a hand into his boot and, pistol cocked, fires 4 times.

The Legionnaires hit the floor, stopped dead, and Lark leaves the tent, his duster fluttering after him.

Benny hears constant gunshots and shouting for a little over an hour before it's eerily quiet again. He's starting to get antsy when the tent opens up, and Lark walks in. He's soaked in blood, half his own, and is followed by an eyebot and a NCR-looking man. Lark gingerly approaches Benny, limping slightly, and crouches in front of him.

“You're an easy man to find, Benny, but God, you're fuckin' hard to get to,” he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a long drag.

“Jesus, baby, you're a scrapper! Took down Caesar with just a butter knife? They didn't stand a goddamn chance,” Lark smiles at that, placing the cigarette between Benny's lips.

“Hold this for me while I untie you,” he leans towards Benny, almost in an embrace, as he cuts the binds loose. Once cut, Lark stands back up, groaning slightly. Benny does the same, blowing smoke as he does.

“Just like that you're lettin' me loose?” Benny says, but he doesn't dare make a move to run away, just looks at Lark in disbelief.

Lark chuckles and shakes his head, “'Fraid not, we're goin' on a little field trip,” he takes the cigarette from Benny's lips then, taking it into his own, “You're comin' with. Can't be chasing you across the Mojave again. Second time's just ridiculous.”

Benny nods, “Sure thing, baby. Any company with you's gotta be safe as houses, hey?”

Lark turns away from him then, looking over Caesar's corpse, “Should we take his head as a trophy?”

“No.” the man Benny assumes is NCR says, arms folded. Lark laughs loudly, clapping a hand over the man's shoulder. “Aw, c'mon Boone, it'll look lovely mounted right over my bed.”

“ _No_.”

Lark laughs some more, turning to leave the tent, but pauses, “By the way, Boone. Keep an eye on ol' Benny over there, yeah?”

Boone nods, giving Benny a glare under his sunglasses and gestures for him to walk in front of him.

They walk like that for a few minutes, Lark leading, then the eyebot (ED-E, Benny hears it being called.), Benny and then Boone in the back, ever watchful. They come to a bunker, where Lark fiddles with some keys, and they make their way inside. They go downstairs where a large screen is set up. _Connection lost?_

Lark hardly gives it a second glance, and they go further, deeper. They come across a room _filled_ with Securitrons, and Benny knows exactly what's about to happen.

Finally, Lark stops in front of a console. He looks it over, takes out the Platinum Chip, and places it in the slot. The lights in the chamber beyond theirs flickers to life, every single Securitron's face blinking on, and Lark turns around, a grin on his face.

 

“There's a new sheriff in Vegas.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

After that, they left the Securitron Vault, travelling to Cottonwood Cove to make their way back to Vegas. Benny was more than happy to leave the Fort behind him, the ache in his wrists and knees just a faint reminder. He counts himself lucky that it was the only injuries he's left with, glancing towards Lark, limping slightly every second step. 

“Hey, you okay there kid?” Benny asks, pausing in his steps. Lark turned back to him, throwing a strained smile over his shoulder.

“Never better. Let's keep movin', the sooner we're back in Vegas the better,”

Benny nods to that, and they continue in silence.

 

* * *

 

Cottonwood Cove was a ghost town when they arrived, Benny didn't even need to ask to know it was Lark and Boone's doing. It was eerie, walking past the scattered remains of Legionnaire corpses but Benny supposes he was glad they were dead. Did the Mojave better rotting out in the blistering sun than enslaving and endangering the general populace.

It's one less thing to worry about, at least.

The current thing worrying Benny is the courier in front of him, still silent, gun drawn and limping. Why exactly he was being escorted back to Vegas when Lark has every right to leave him to die in the desert, Benny has no idea. Maybe there's a worse fate waiting for him back in Vegas, maybe Lark just simply doesn't know what to do with him. Whatever the reason, Benny feels on edge without the weight of a gun in his pocket, practically at the mercy of the two men with him.

They continue their way across the desert, but stop at an abandoned gas station once it's too dark to see more than 5 feet in front of them. Lark and Boone murmur to each other in the doorway while Benny and the eyebot go inside, Benny immediately taking a seat on the floor, back to the counter.

The two at the doorway finish their conversation and Lark goes to sit beside Benny, sighing once he didn't have to stand anymore.

“Boone's gonna take first watch. We'll swap in about four hours and we'll get a move on come dawn,” He sticks a hand in his breast pocket, huffs when it comes back empty, “Guess I'm all outta smokes, though. Gonna be a long night, eh?”

Benny nods, too tired to even be annoyed by the lack of nicotine in his system. Lark rummages in his satchel for a minute, pulling out a few cans and two bottles. He offers a can and bottle to Benny, who takes it with a quick smile. They eat cold pork 'n' beans in silence, Benny grateful for the bitter taste of beer to wash it down. A few moments later, they're done, and an awkward quiet settles on them. He hears Lark sigh again, wiping a hand down his face, scratching lightly at the stubble there. His ridiculous hat is gone, Benny notes, looking at Lark's face and short curls, illuminated by his Pip-boy light.

Lark was staring intently at the screen but glanced up to make eye-contact with Benny, a tired grin on his face. He turns down the light and messes with his satchel again, this time pulling out a blanket. He drapes over the both of them, scooting closer to Benny, and Benny almost wants to get up and sleep outside, panic making his face flush.

Lark settles then, both of them practically squashed together, and Benny tries to steady his breathing. The blanket really was soft, though. He could barely make out the patchwork pattern, obviously made up of several different articles of cloth, handmade then. 

“A friend made this for me,” Lark says in the darkness, wistful and quiet, and Benny knows by the tone that he's not going to elaborate. So, they sit in silence and rest their eyes, Lark leaving after a few hours, tucking the blanket around Benny's slumped form and nodding to Boone as he passes. He sits outside in the crisp night air and sighs heavily, his hand almost unconsciously reaching for an empty pocket as the sun crests the horizon.

 

* * *

 

The next morning was bright and sweltering, sun high in the sky, but they made good time on their way to Vegas. They reached the neon roads by the early evening, just as the lights were beginning to come on, almost welcoming them back to the small city. Benny was about to make a beeline for The Tops but Lark turned to him and shook his head when he saw Benny's gaze directed towards the casino.

“Sorry Benny, we still got unfinished business to discuss, you and I. We'll be making a detour to The Lucky 38 before I let ya loose,” He falls in step beside Benny and places a hand on his back, gently nudging him towards said casino.

Benny breathes out a laugh, “Can't get enough of me, huh? But, alright since you're bein' so nice about it,” He lets himself be guided, entering the casino with Lark, the large metal doors closing behind them.

When they pass the threshold, the music and general noise of people bustling through Vegas immediately cuts off, and Benny feels like he's in a vacuum it's so quiet and still. The air is choked with dust and the musty smell of alcohol, the flickering screens of the Securitrons the only sign of life inside. 

“Nice place,” Benny says, catching Lark smiling from the corner of his eye, they continue towards the elevator. Once inside, they make a brief stop at the Presidential Suite to let Boone and ED-E off, before making their way further up and stopping at the Cocktail Lounge.

As soon as they enter, Lark hops behind the bar and begins rummaging through bottles.

“Take a seat while I look for something to drink,” he calls over his shoulder, and Benny doesn't need to be told twice. He picks a table by the window, in full view of Vegas, glad to be off his sore feet after walking so much over the past few days. 

Lark finds what he's looking for and saunters over with a bottle and two glasses. He places the bottle of whiskey down between them and sets the glasses down either side, quickly pouring out a generous amount for the both of them. He sits across from Benny and pulls out two cigarettes, handing him one and popping his own in his mouth. He leans forward, lights them both, with Benny's lighter, and leans back in his chair, arms coming to rest behind his head.

“God, what a fucking week,” Benny laughs loudly at that, nodding his head as he sips from his glass, Lark sighing and closing his eyes briefly.

“So,” he starts, sitting up properly in his chair, elbows on the table as he leans forward into Benny's space,” About you. You're probably wondering why I didn't just kill you back there?”

Benny nods again, “Oh sure thing, baby, but I'm all the more glad for it, don't get me wrong now,”

Lark sighs again, sagging his shoulders and taking a swig from his glass before answering, “Y'see, here's my current, uh, predicament; House is dead. I'm now the de facto leader of New Vegas, I've got my own lil army of robots, and a new casino to run. It's,” He pauses to take a long drag from his cigarette, “A little overwhelming. I'm just a courier,”

“So, my offer is this; I need someone to help me out with this sorta shit, and I thought who better than the guy House wanted to replace him anyways?” He grins brightly at Benny, dabbing out the cigarette and placing a hand over Benny's right one, “I need a right-hand man, as it were, and, I dunno if you were lookin' for job openings or anythin' but...” He trails off, giving Benny a hopeful look.

Benny chuckles, coughing away the smoke between them, glancing at the hand on his, “Hey, if you need a guy who knows how to run things, the Ben-man's your guy,”

Lark's face practically blossoms as he throws his head back in a warm laugh, giving Benny's hand a soft pat, “Good! Good, that's, yeah,” he clears his throat, picking his glass up and thrusting it into the air, prompting Benny to do the same, “To partners?”

Benny mirrors the infectious smile on Lark's face, back-lit by the bright neon lights of Vegas, and clanks his glass against Lark's. 

“To partners,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit shorter than the previous chapter but i wanted to write Something bc its been entirely Too Long (sorry about that)
> 
> once again, thank u for reading! i never write stuff so seeing that ppl actually like this makes me so happy omg

**Author's Note:**

> this is Definitely not done n ill probs add to it some other time tbh but have this for now
> 
> lemme know if theres any mistakes or if smthns formatted weird! ty


End file.
